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By townes van zandt |
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When the bandits have stolen your jewelry and gone |
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And your crippled young gypsy, he's grown tall and strong |
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And your dead misconceptions have proven you wrong |
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Well then, princess, where you plannin' to turn to? |
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When your magazine memory has spun you around |
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And you realize your lovers were just painted clowns |
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And outside your window you start hearing sounds |
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Where they're building a cross for to burn you |
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When all your bright scarlet turn slowly to blue |
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Will you stop and decide that it's over? |
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When your teardrops go sour and no longer fall |
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The splash cross the virgin that lives down your hall |
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And spends all her nights with an ear to your wall |
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Well then, what will you have you can offer? |
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When the firedancers finish and leave you alone |
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With nothing but embers and sacks full of stone |
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That hang round your neck, slicing through to the bone |
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Will there still be place for your laughter? |
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As your shattered illusions come a-tumblin' home |
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And all of the butchers you've nourished have grown |
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And they are suddenly able to leave you alone |
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And they run like slaves that are set free |
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When your questions are answered and your pleading is done |
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And your mind starts to screaming that you ain't the one |
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That once dwelled within you, will you turn, will you run |
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Then princess, will you come home and get me? |
